


Taking Turns

by iridescentAI



Series: The Space Between [3]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Biting, F/M, Face-Sitting, Female My Unit | Byleth, Hair-pulling, Insecurity, LOTS of feelings on Sylvain's part, M/M, Making Out, Multi, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, ao3 fix this, felix gets pegged, felix's thigh high boots, finally goddammit, sylvain gets pegged, they love each other alright, we love vulnerability, why doesn't the sylvix ship tag show up when i try to tag these fics, you know i can't write without a little angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-01-04 19:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21202643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentAI/pseuds/iridescentAI
Summary: It's a careful balance between the three of them, boundaries yet to be fully hashed out, mistakes left to be made.But they're tired of being careful.





	1. the usual suspects

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, this chapter was the first thing I ever wrote for these three. I was gonna post it, no context, and then my compulsive need to explain myself was like "wait, you have to explain yourself" and now it's a series -- aren't you glad???

“I’ll let you fuck her first.” 

Felix draws up like a bowstring, jaw clenching, eyebrows furrowing, fingers curling into fists at his sides. “Don’t pretend to be humble, asshole.” He spits -- but the bite of the insult is softened by the pink tinge to his cheeks. 

Sylvain, that cocky motherfucker, merely shifts his weight to the other hip and winks. “C’mon, Felix, you don’t want to be each other’s firsts?” 

Now Felix is bright red, undeniably embarrassed. “What makes you think either of us are virgins?” 

He doesn’t really appreciate the dry chuckle that tumbles out of his redheaded friend. 

“Really?” Sylvain demands, crossing his arms over his chest, arching one auburn eyebrow to display maximum disbelief. “You expect me to believe that either of you took your eyes off the prize -- of being the strongest or most reliable or whatever -- and took a moment to stop and smell the roses? Really?” 

An unhappy snort announces Felix’s malcontent. “I enjoy myself plenty.” 

“You’re changing the subject.” Sylvain pokes Felix in the chest, an accusal, and the shorter man growls. It’s supposed to be threatening, but all it does is make Sylvain want to wrap his arms around him and _squeeze_. Felix would not take well to that. “All I’m saying is that I’ve had plenty of women in my bed. It won’t hurt me to wait my turn while you two get your rocks off.”

“I’m not talking about this anymore.” The swordsman decides, starting off at a brisk pace in an attempt to escape the conversation.

“Want me to tell the prof that you’re waiting in your room?” Sylvain calls after him. Felix walks faster, a sharp _tch_ of disdain hissing between his teeth regardless of the fact that the redhead can’t hear him anymore. 

\---

Sylvain finds him again at dinner. Felix gets up from his seat in a rush, hissing and spitting curses under his breath as he gathers his belongings as quickly as possible. 

“Felix!” His childhood friend calls, his smile as blindingly bright as always. “What’s the rush?” He demands, appearing beside him faster than Felix had expected. “What’s making you turn tail and run off?”

“You and your insufferable attitude.” Felix grumbles, shouldering past the taller man, arms full of his coat. Sylvain feigns offense, raising a hand to press over his heart. “Leave me be. I don’t have time for your shenanigans.” 

“Hey, hey,” Sylvain’s voice drops an octave, warm enough to heat Felix’s cheeks. A strong hand grips his bicep, stopping him in his tracks, and Felix ignores the way his stomach flips. “Calm down, man.”

Felix whirls on his heel, teeth bared and ready to strike, but a flash of green stops him. 

“P-professor?” Felix chokes on a stammer, stumbling back -- well, as far as Sylvain’s grip will allow him to -- in surprise. Byleth peers over Sylvain’s shoulder, curious green roving over the flush of his cheeks, down the tense set of his shoulders. 

“I’m taking a day off tomorrow,” Byleth announces, as short and to the point as ever. “I came to see if you wanted to spend the night.” 

They’ve been ‘official’ for about a week, but busy schedules and the looming threat of war have kept them from achieving anything more than hungry kisses and needy presses through too many layers of clothing. 

This is it: the opportunity to truly _lay_ with his lovers. To lay with Byleth -- to lay with _Sylvain_.

Sylvain must see the realization dawn in his eyes, because his grin is _infuriating_, and it nearly distracts Felix from the offer at hand. 

“You really think the three of us can fit in your little bed?” Is the first thing Felix spits out. He’s _irrationally_ enraged by the way Sylvain rolls his eyes, obviously exasperated, but the hint of a smile that tugs at Byleth’s lips draws him back in. 

“Someone ever so graciously offered to sacrifice his spot for you.” Their old professor informs him, not so subtly glancing over to Sylvain, who looks smug again. _Bastard_. 

“No.” Felix immediately refuses. “Goodnight.” He nods, something he meant to be brisk but ends up way more jerky than he’d intended. He compensates by wrenching his arm out of Sylvain’s grip and turning on his heel.

Once again, he retreats. 

\---

He is not so lucky as to avoid the subject a third time. 

As stubborn as Felix is, he knows when to give up. Sylvain does _not_ \-- and that has infuriated Felix ever since they were little.

Sylvain _and_ Byleth chase after him, pursuing him all the way to his room, where he _almost_ gets the door closed before a black boot shoves itself between the door and the wall. 

Felix _flings_ the door back open, ready to chew Sylvain out, but the boot does not belong to Sylvain.

“Felix.” Byleth intones, crossing her arms over her chest and leveling a glare at him that should _not_ make his heart stutter in place. “I’d rather you talk to me than run away.” 

Oh, Goddess help him. 

While Sylvain knows exactly how to push his buttons, Byleth always seems to see right through him. It’s nearly as infuriating as Sylvain’s ceaseless nonsense. 

“Let’s get this straight, Professor,” Felix growls, stepping forwards into Byleth’s space, getting chest to chest with her, staring her down. “I do not _run away_.” 

Behind Byleth, Sylvain snorts in disbelief, but before Felix can react, Byleth’s hand is cupping his cheek. 

She looks at him like he’s given her a gift, something warm glittering in her eyes. Her fingers smooth over his face, admiring the line of his cheekbones and the cut of his jaw, tracing the shadow of stubble that dusts his chin. Felix feels unfairly loved. 

He’s not used to this whole 'being loved' thing quite yet.

“Will you invite me in?” Byleth murmurs. 

Felix would not normally classify himself as a weak man. 

But this is unfamiliar territory -- so when Byleth stands on her toes to press the ghost of a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Felix’s resolve crumples.

He takes exactly one step back, pivoting his body to allow Byleth to enter his room. She slips by him with a smile, taking off her coat as she passes. Grudgingly, Felix allows Sylvain to cross the threshold as well. 

But when Felix closes the door, Sylvain betrays him. With a few steps and a looming presence, Felix is pinned against the door, Sylvain standing tall and warm against him.

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” his full name is uttered low and dark, obviously curled around a smirk. “You should’ve just said you didn’t want to leave me out.” 

Felix rolls his eyes, unimpressed. Whatever game Sylvain thinks he’s playing, it’s not intimidating. He could switch their positions in a moment, if he wanted to.

“Is that it?” Their old professor’s voice is tinged with curiosity, and Felix catches her eyes over Sylvain’s shoulder. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed, watching them as if they’re some kind of mildly interesting show. “I don’t mind if you both stay the night.” 

“I know,” Felix hisses, tilting his chin up enough to sneer at her. “It’s not that.” 

Green hair falls across a heart-shaped face as Byleth tilts her head, silently asking him to go on. 

Felix clams up. This is not- he can’t admit to _that_, certainly not while-

“Well?” Sylvain presses, both with his questions and his body, fitting into the space between the shorter man’s legs. “Why don’t you want me to leave you two to it?” 

Felix doesn’t grace him with an answer. 

Unfortunately, judging by the realization spreading across the redhead’s face like the sunrise over the horizon, Sylvain has come to a conclusion. 

“Are you nervous, Felix?” Sylvain wonders, mirroring Byleth’s earlier move and taking Felix’s face in his hand. The stroking of his thumb over Felix’s cheek weighs him down, convinces him to stay in place. “The professor won’t bite.” 

The look that crosses their professor’s face is so brief Felix nearly misses it, but he takes note that Sylvain’s promise isn’t to be taken to heart. 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about, Felix. It feels really nice, I promise,” Sylvain continues, voice soft and reassuring. It's the same tone he'd use to soothe when they were kids, except this time it's not horseback that Sylvain's trying to coax him into.

“And why should I take your word for it?” The swordsman pipes back up, coming into his second wind. “This is like second nature for you, isn’t it? Why would you assume everything would go so smoothly for _me?_” 

_Oh fuck- shit, he hadn’t meant to-_

The room is unbearably quiet, Sylvain wide-eyed above him, blinking as if Felix had hit him -- which he’s about five seconds from doing -- while Byleth continues to observe, ever the silent onlooker. 

Felix bites back a scream, beyond enraged. “What do you want from me, you conniving bastard? Do you really expect me not to fuck everything up?” He shouts, tense beneath a strong body. “These things take a certain- a little- everything I’m _not_,” he doesn’t like how his voice has taken on a pleading tone -- like he’s pleading with them, _begging_ them to give him a pass on a task he just _knows_ he will fail. 

“I understand.” Byleth speaks up, rising slowly from her perch on Felix’s bed. “But remember, Felix,” she murmurs, reaching around Sylvain to cover his other cheek with her hand, cradling his jaw. “Just because you show love differently doesn’t mean you don’t love at all.” 

Felix tries _really hard_ not to melt into her touch. 

Goddess- he's just not _used_ to this. She has _no reason_ to touch him as gently as she is, not when he’s being so prickly, so difficult, not when he doesn’t deserve it in the least.

“Sure, Fee,” Sylvain agrees, using that infuriating nickname from when they were young. “It doesn’t matter that you speak love in a different language. You gotta trust that we understand it.” 

He never expected this from Byleth, but from _Sylvain_ it's like a sucker punch. Has Sylvain loved him like this all along? Has he _always_ been willing to accommodate all of Felix's too-sharp edges?

Surely, _surely_, they can’t mean it,

“But why do you need _me_ here for that?” Sylvain wonders, idly pulling at the corner of Felix’s mouth with his thumb. “Prof is as much yours as she is mine. One night away isn’t going to tear us apart.” 

Maybe Byleth isn’t the only one that can see through him. 

Felix _does_ worry that having Byleth to himself will upset their careful balance, that it’ll be his fault everything falls apart. But it’s not just _Byleth_ he’s worried about losing.

“No, it won’t,” Felix agrees, voice hoarse from the strain of yelling. “I… I don’t…” he tries to make the words come out, but they all catch in his throat. 

_I don’t need you here. I want you here._

He can’t say it. 

He’s spent too many years pushing it all down, convincing himself that he doesn’t love Sylvain, that he doesn’t care. 

“Just want you to be comfortable,” Sylvain whispers, mirroring Byleth’s earlier corner of the mouth kiss, except that Sylvain has to bend down instead of reach up. “Want it to be special for you.” He continues, pressing a matching kiss to the other corner of his mouth. 

Felix can’t help but snort at that last platitude. “Like it wouldn’t be special if you were here,” he shakes his head, scoffing at utterly dense his best friend is. 

And on the list of reactions Felix had been expecting and preparing for, amber eyes dropping to the floor isn’t one of them. 

“Oh, c’mon,” the swordsman complains, frowning up at the man towering above him. “Where’s that arrogant self-confidence? Not even a wink?” 

There’s a quiet moment before Sylvain visibly pulls himself together, and when he meets Felix’s eyes again, he's wearing a mask in the shape of a smile. 

It’s the facade he puts on for everyone else, the one that keeps up the character of Sylvain the Skirt Chaser. The one that only drops when no one’s around -- when it’s just him, just Felix, just Byleth. 

“Of course I’d make it special for-”

“Sylvain,” Byleth’s voice cuts through the attempted normalcy, stern and as sharp as a knife. 

“What?” The dark knight surrenders, glancing over his shoulder at their imposing professor. 

“Don’t reprimand Felix for running away when you're just as guilty.” Her tone is low, warning, and she emphasizes the command with a squeeze of Felix’s jaw. 

(He tries not to whine.)

“I-! I’m not- I haven’t been-” Sylvain attempts to argue, but a _Look_ from Byleth silences him. 

“I knew there was something up when you offered up your spot,” Felix pipes up, aiming a glare up at the man above him that’s just as accusing as their professor’s.

“If you have something to say,” Byleth trails off, arching a green eyebrow in expectation.

As always, it doesn’t take long for Sylvain to cave. 

“I just thought… because I’ve- because it won’t be my first, I didn’t think you’d…” 

“You _idiot_,” Felix snaps. Now it’s _his_ turn to cut Sylvain off. “You’re the only one out of all of us that knows what they’re doing!” 

“Sure,” Sylvain murmurs, eyes cast somewhere else again. At least the mask is gone. “It's just that I’ve… I've made a reputation of being insincere. Everyone knows not to believe a word I say." His smile is wry; at least he's _aware_ of the reputation he's building, though Felix hadn't been aware that he'd built it on purpose. 

The cavalier takes a breath in, mindlessly stroking Felix's cheek as if to ground himself. "I don’t want _you_ two to think that I don’t mean what I say. That I’m feeding you empty words and pretty lies.” 

When Sylvain falls quiet, there’s a beat where Felix feels like this is the part where he’s supposed to jump in and reassure him, say something nice to lift his spirits. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. The room goes as still as his own thoughts, the resulting silence weighing heavy on all three of their shoulders. 

"Sylvain…" Byleth sighs, filling in where Felix falls short. "Remember that wonderful line you delivered earlier about love languages?"

The dark knight's immediate flinch speaks volumes.

_Just because you love differently… you have to trust we'll understand. _

“You must trust us to believe you.” The swordswoman murmurs. “Just as we must trust you to be sincere.”

Felix sees a hint of fingertips at Sylvain’s nape, and the rustle of fire bright hair tells him she’s buried her fingers in his curls. Auburn eyelashes droop shut while Byleth strokes through his hair. 

“You didn't want to come across as insincere,” Felix repeats, making sure he heard right. “So you… offered me first fuck?”

Sylvain’s cheeks _immediately_ burn a bright red, and he sheepishly cracks an eye open. “I-"

"Are both of you staying the night or not?" Their professor pipes up before he has a chance to answer, leaning into Sylvain, cheek smushed against a strong shoulder. "It's getting late."

There’s a beat of silence, of hesitation, where Felix glances between eyes of autumn and spring, looking for the answer to something… something… 

"You won't be upset if I'm prickly and rude?" Felix finally whispers, warm under the palms of both his lovers.

Sylvain doesn't miss a beat, earnestly shaking his head. "You'll believe everything I say?" He shoots back, a familiar playful grin stretching across his lips. 

"I don't know about _everything_," Felix recoils, grimacing at the concept. 

The broad palm against his cheek falls. Felix opens his mouth to backpedal, worried he'd said the wrong thing, but Sylvain shuts him up with lips against his. 

_If Sylvain is autumn, then Felix is the summer sun -- burning, he’s burning hot, reaching up to press his palm to a cool cheek, pulling him closer, closer, more,_

A soft groan pulls from his throat as Sylvain devours him, pressing long, searing kisses back against the taller man’s mouth, over and over and over until he's dizzy from the contact.

A second set of hands reaches around Sylvain, spreading over Felix's pecs in a swath of warmth. Felix can't see their professor, but Sylvain can feel her nose pressed into his back, can feel her chest rise and fall as she lets out a long sigh. 

"I'll still let you fuck her first," Sylvain murmurs, the hot breath of his promise washing over Felix's too warm cheeks. "I certainly won't mind watching that." 

"Perv," Felix cuts out between teasing swipes of tongue against his lip. 

Leaned against the door, pinned beneath two warm bodies, beneath two gazes simmering with barely contained desire, Felix feels like he's floating.

And what Byleth murmurs to him, muffled against Sylvain's neck, rips the remaining ground out from beneath the swordsman's feet. 

"It's cute that you thought you'd be the one fucking me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain: the professor definitely hasn't fucked/been fucked ever  
Felix: ...sounds legit  
Byleth: *looking into the camera like she's on the office*
> 
> I made a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/Lee48646136) for fire emblem shenanigans, come watch me post the fanart I drew for these fics and scream with me pls


	2. Spotlight: Felix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix gets pegged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided I needed three chapters to get the fullest extent of Byleth topping. You're welcome.

“I- I’m sorry, _what?_” Felix croaks, almost too lost in the sensation of Sylvain kissing across his cheek to register what Byleth had actually said.

Almost.

“Oh,” Byleth is nothing short of calm and collected, leaning back from where she’s busied herself with undoing Sylvain’s shirt to lock eyes with Felix again. “Were you not expecting that?”

Felix can only splutter incomprehensibly for a couple moments, somewhere between offended and taken completely off guard, until he finally pulls himself together enough to form words.

“Of course not!” He all but barks, eyes darting off to glare somewhere else, somewhere not at Byleth’s cool and collected gaze. “You don’t- you don’t really have the…” crimson eyes glance down, obviously darting from her face to between her legs and back, “The _equipment_ necessary, and --”

“Oh I _have_ the equipment,” Byleth mumbles as she tugs Sylvain’s collar down far enough to graze his skin with her teeth. The tenor of Sylvain’s voice against Felix’s skin is _intoxicating._

“It’s not here, though.” She adds. “It’s in my room. Where I planned for us to be.”

“You _planned_ to top me?” A very uncharacteristic squeak rips from the swordsman’s mouth, and Byleth can’t help but grin at the rosy tint to his cheeks. 

“Were you hoping it would go some other way?” She muses, reaching out to trail her fingers over the pink splash of heat across his face. “Did you imagine me underneath you, Fraldarius? As if I’d go down without a fight?” 

_Without a fight,_

The thought is entirely too enticing -- having Byleth pressed against him, all hard muscle and soft curves, feeling her strain against him in a battle to come out on top --

He’d always imagined his hands gripping hers, knees caging her in, pressing hot kisses to the hollow of her throat and shamelessly grinding against the heat between her legs, but… would he _really_ mind if their roles were reversed?

Felix’s throat convulses in a hard swallow. 

Sylvain chases the movement, one large hand curling around the side of Felix’s neck that his lips aren’t caressing. He hovers over the spots that elicit reactions from the shorter man, dragging out bitten off groans and stifled moans with every press of his kiss-swollen lips. 

“Did you imagine _me_ underneath you?” Sylvain wonders, rumbling against the reddening skin of Felix’s throat. “Huh, Fee? Do you think about laying me down and spreading my legs, about stretching me open so you can fuck my --”

“Shut up shut up _shut up!”_ Felix shrieks, flushing the brightest red and frantically smacking Sylvain until he backs away. The taller man takes no offense, merely chuckles and swats back at his childhood friend, all too used to his younger friend’s standoffish nature. “You’re- you’re incorrigible! You’re --”

“No, no, don’t interrupt him,” Byleth hushes the shorter man and turns to stare up at Sylvain, waiting. “I think it’s a lovely idea. You would look lovely like that.” 

Sylvain brightens, visibly straightening and smiling widely over his shoulder at the woman behind him. 

“Please, professor, don’t encourage him.” Felix groans, smacking his head against the wall behind him. 

It's a mistake to do so, because Byleth jumps at the opportunity to exploit the sensitive skin of his neck, wiggling in between him and Sylvain until _she's_ the one pinning him to the wall. She wastes no time ducking down to latch onto his skin, all slick lips and hot tongue and sharp teeth and-

"You never answered the question," Sylvain's curiosity fishes Felix's thoughts out of the puddle of goo they'd been melting into, forcing him to open his eyes. He tries to glare, but it's a struggle just to keep his eyes open against the onslaught of pleasure, so it probably just looks like bedroom eyes.

Unfortunately, bedroom eyes are the last thing Felix could do that would discourage Sylvain from bothering him.

"I don't see why it _matters_," his breath rushes out of him in a groan when Byleth finds his pulse point with her teeth, and he can't help but wind his arms around her waist and pull her closer to him.

Either he's stronger than he remembers or Byleth absolutely _drapes_ herself over him without any further prompting -- whichever it is, Felix loses the rest of his sentence as soon as he registers the soft curve of Byleth's body against his. She winds her arms around his torso, pulling them chest to chest, fitting perfectly against the hard line of his body.

"Of course it matters," she murmurs directly into his ear, tearing a shudder out of him. "I want you to enjoy this."

She punctuates this with a searing lick up his neck, dragging the softest of groans from his throat. 

Lightheaded from the attention, the only thing that grounds him is the pressure of Sylvain’s fingers as they wind between his where they rest on Byleth’s hip.

_I want you to enjoy this._

“After all this time, I never thought I’d…” with a shake of his head, he discards the idea and restarts. “With _both_ of you...” Felix trails off, feeling his face burn with embarrassment before he even gets the words out. 

A squeeze of his hand, a peck on his cheek -- his lovers support him, ground him, tether him to the moment at hand.

“I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, braces himself -- for what, he does not know -- but whatever he’s waiting for never comes. He’s met with only silence. 

When he cracks an eye open, he finds smiles plastered on his lovers’ faces, smiles so bright and so wide they can only be classified as _stupid_. 

It’s… stunning, really, to be on the receiving end of their love. 

It’s Sylvain that moves first, something soft and uncharacteristically vulnerable glimmering in sunset eyes. It’s so _open_, so _real_, that it kinda makes Felix uncomfortable. He’s not certain he’s seen his childhood friend look so earnest since… well, _childhood_. 

Warm fingers, a broad palm, smooths over his face, cups his cheek and tilts his head back so that Sylvain can lean over Byleth to plant a kiss on Felix’s mouth. For a moment, he hovers there, just stroking fair skin, letting their breath mingle in the evening air. 

“Don’t you think we should move this along?” The taller man teases, his breath tingling against Felix’s lips as he leans away. Felix has half a mind to chew him out for ruining the moment, but the squeeze of arms around his chest, of mint hair rustling as Byleth nuzzles closer to him, changes his mind.

“Besides,” Sylvain hums, oddly thoughtful as he cards through midnight dark hair. “I’ve kept you waiting long enough, haven’t I?” 

Felix wants to argue, to say it’s not true, but… it is, isn’t it? 

He’s been waiting all this time. Waiting for Sylvain to get his act together, to _notice_ him, to see _him,_ not all the girls he chases -- waiting in line for Byleth’s attention with all the other former students, just to get a taste of her love, if only for a moment. 

And now he _has it_. 

All eyes are on him, tonight -- the bright orange of autumn, the soft green of spring -- watching and waiting in turn. Waiting for _him_. 

He’s not usually one for the spotlight, but considering how _difficult_ it is to have a moment of either of his lovers’ time… maybe, just for tonight, he can let it slide. 

Eyes of summer red flutter closed for a moment, framed by midnight blue lashes and rose-tinted cheeks. When they open again, they’re burning burning _burning_, alight with desire, a hunger to make up for lost time. 

_Time to get this show on the road._

“Of course your room is the farthest away,” he grumbles in the direction of the woman idly stroking his collarbone. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He lifts his chin high, hoping he looks more put together than he feels.

There’s much in the way of untangling themselves, limbs lost underneath and between bodies, and there’s quite a bit of clothing that needs adjusting before they can make the trek down the hallway, down the stairs, and all the way to the last room of the first floor dormitories. They also have to wait quite a while for Sylvain to disappear into his room and wiggle off the remnants of his armor.

“Carry me, Felix,” Sylvain insists when he returns, draping himself over the shorter man’s back while he takes his hair down from its ponytail. 

“No.” 

Sylvain pouts, breathing a childish _hmmph_ directly into Felix’s ear. It shouldn’t make the swordsman shudder as hard as it does, but his mind is a little… occupied, at the moment. 

“You’d carry the professor if she asked,” Sylvain grumbles, taking a vengeful nip at the shell of Felix’s ear before he retracts his arms from his shoulders. 

“She’s about half a foot shorter, _and_ probably weighs a good --”

“I’ll carry you, Sylvain.” Byleth announces, as easily as if she’s asking him to tea. “Come here.” 

Sylvain perks up like a puppy being offered a treat, turns on his heel, and launches himself at their professor. 

For a brief moment, Felix is _certain_ Sylvain is going to break something -- whether it be something in Felix’s room or something in Byleth’s body -- but even though the professor stumbles back a bit, she stands firm under the sudden weight of one redheaded dark knight. Watching her biceps flex while she adjusts Sylvain’s weight in her arms, Felix can’t believe he even _doubted_ her in the first place. 

It’s absolutely _unfair_ how perfect Sylvain’s thighs look wrapped around her waist, how _inviting_ Sylvain’s arms look while they wind around her neck, how _enticing_Byleth’s hands look as they clutch the curve of his ass.

“Oh, _handsy_, professor,” Sylvain nearly giggles, giddy from the absurdity of the situation at hand. 

He’s smiling too widely to kiss her, so he settles for bending to brush noses, one hand broad across her cheek.

And what a beautiful pair they make, smiling in the low light of the lamp Felix managed to light before things spiraled out of control. Byleth, ever stoic and steadfast, barely straining while she carries the cavalier, the softest smile on her lips, the barest brushes of pink across her cheeks, and Sylvain, ever bright and expressive, wrapped around the one woman he’s _serious_ about, smiling so brightly it almost hurts to watch. 

Felix is in love with them. 

For a moment, it stings a little, to see them so enraptured with each other, to be standing on the outside looking in -- but Felix Hugo Fraldarius is _not_ a bystander and never has been. 

“I was under the impression that we were tidying up to make our evening tryst _less_ obvious,” he interrupts, stepping close to Byleth so he can rest his chin on her shoulder and pout. “Do you plan to carry the object of your affections across the dormitory lawn and announce it to the whole world?”

Byleth’s smile widens. “I can’t do that. Unfortunately, I am not strong enough to carry both of you.” 

Felix buries his face in her shoulder, burning red while Sylvain lights up with affectionate laughter. 

_both of you_

It was silly to assume her attention had ever drifted away from him. 

Byleth gets in one last grope of Sylvain’s rear before she sets him down, and -- judging by the glimmer in his eyes -- the taller man is absolutely _delighted_ by her forwardness.

“_Professor_,” he gasps as they make their way out of Felix’s bedroom. “I didn’t think you had it in you!” 

Byleth tosses her hair over her shoulder, the picture of calm -- but Felix can see the fire that glows in her eyes, a low-burning flame of desire that he’s had little opportunity to see from her so far. 

“Clearly,” she begins, something smug curling at the corners of her lips, “You don’t have very high expectations of my performance in the bedroom.” 

Something along the lines of _don’t you want to be each other’s firsts?_ rings in the back of Felix’s mind, and he arches an eyebrow in Sylvain’s direction. 

“I’m more than willing to be proven wrong.” The cavalier insists, bending to press a kiss to Felix’s accusatory eyebrow. 

And oh, how wrong Sylvain turns out to be. 

The way Byleth flips the latch on her door is practiced, but it’s _nothing_ compared to the way she steals Felix’s breath right out of his lungs with a couple kisses -- and the way she curls his tongue in his mouth is nothing short of _perfection_. 

She pushes him to sit on the edge of her bed without further ado, tosses her coat onto the nearest surface available, and drops to her knees in front of him. 

“You see, Felix,” she murmurs, small hands, _practiced_ hands sliding up his calves, over his knees, resting on top of his thighs. “I’ve had my eye on these boots for a _while_ now.” 

Felix watches her thumb at the buckle fastening his boots around his thighs, swallowing heavily. When he glances up at Sylvain, he finds the cavalier eyeing him with equal amounts of interest, tongue tracing slow and heavy over his lower lip while he watches Byleth get to work. 

“Might I confess something?” Byleth murmurs, undoing the buttons on either of his thighs. 

“We’re not in the cathedral. You need not ask permission.” Felix huffs, reaching for his usual attitude in this uncertain moment. 

Byleth smiles that same smug, self-satisfied curl of the lips he’d caught earlier. 

“As soon as we’d stepped off the battlefield, upon reuniting for the first time after those five years… As soon as I noticed these boots, I’ve been _dying_ to peel them off of you, _bit_ by _bit_,” she whispers, bending down to breathe hot and heady against the leather of his boots. 

All he can do is stare when Byleth takes the edge of the leather in her teeth and _tugs_, pulling his boot halfway off of his leg before she finishes the job with her hands. Desire flares hot in the pit of his stomach, and he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“I’m kind of jealous,” she admits while tugging his remaining shoe off. “You all came back taller and broader and older, with new outfits to boot, and I’m still in the same armor I fell asleep in five years ago.” 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, professor,” Sylvain assures her with a wink in Felix’s direction. He kneels behind her, hands dancing over her shoulders, and fingers the edge of her collar. “You wouldn’t mind if we took off that same ol’ armor though, would you?”

Byleth inclines her head in what must be a “do as you will,” and goes back to deftly undoing every belt, button, and tie on Felix’s clothing. 

It’s hard to do anything but clutch at the sheets on her bed while she all but strips him, but Felix manages to lift his hands to the straps across his chest, helping to speed the process. Good thing he left his gloves and cloak back in his room, or he’d probably be so frustrated as to tear through the entire ordeal.

Curse Faerghus weather and the need for so many layers -- he’s going to _die_ if he doesn’t get his shirt- shirts- coats- _agh!_

Sylvain must notice his frustration, because as soon as Byleth’s armored chestpiece clatters to the ground, large hands swat his away from the buttons of his undershirt. 

“Shrug the coat off first, Fee.” Sylvain hums, popping button after button down the line of Felix’s chest. It would be more satisfying to watch if he didn’t have _another_ shirt on underneath -- a tight-fitting turtleneck that was going to be godawful to pull off over his head.

When he’s finally free of his coat and all the buckles and straps that go with it, he drops his swords to the ground next to Byleth’s armor -- because _of course_ he didn’t leave his swords in his room, what kind of man do you take him for? 

But, despite how anxious he is to be free of his final layers, his train of thought is derailed immediately by cool air against the bare skin of his legs, by warm hands smoothing over his ankles, his calves, his thighs. The sudden sensation means that Byleth must have pulled his pants off -- and a glance down confirms his suspicions, though he can’t hold eye contact with sly viridian for long.

Sitting there in front of her, only covered by his smallclothes, it’s pretty obvious that he’s half hard and steadily thickening. He can’t help it -- not when she takes greedy handfuls of sinuous muscle, nails biting pretty red crescent moons into the pale wash of his skin, not when she’s pushing his legs apart, the ghost of her breath hot against his inner thighs. 

What with the way her eyes are fixed on the tent in his shorts, Felix has absolutely no doubt in his mind what her next step must be.

“P-professor, you don’t have to-”

He barely begins to speak before Sylvain is yanking the edge of Felix’s shirt up, apparently just as vexed by the final layer as the swordsman himself. 

And -- to everyone’s surprise, it seems -- the sliver of newly exposed skin tears Byleth’s attention away from her prize between Felix’s legs. 

Something- something _odd_ flashes in mint green eyes, something- something-

She surges forwards, palms pressing into Felix’s chest to push him down onto the bed, and suddenly she’s hovering over his stomach, that _look_ in her eyes… 

It takes him a moment to place the emotion, because he’s only ever seen it directed towards him in the context of swordplay. It’s quite similar to that _hunger_ that drew him to her in the first place -- the driving force behind her _impeccable_ swordsmanship, her _desire_ to survive. 

But now it’s directed _at_ him, _about_ him, and before she even touches him, before she even bends to meet him properly, a gasp tears out of the swordsman’s lungs as the realization -- no, the _confirmation_, the _proof_ \-- hits him all at once.

Byleth _wants him_. 

It’s no tame desire, either, judging by the intensity of the look in her eyes. 

She looks positively _ravenous_.

Which is why he’s not surprised in the _least_ when the trace of her tongue, slick and hot over the muscles of his abdomen, promptly tosses his rational thought out of the window. 

He’s hot he’s hot he’s _burning_, everything is so warm -- there are hands all over, hands _everywhere_ \-- he’s got a fistful of Byleth’s hair, he’s pretty sure she’s got her hands around his waist, so it must be Sylvain’s thumb over his nipple --

He needs this shirt off _now_ he needs this shirt off _NOW_

He gets the shirt off. Nearly suffocates himself in the process. Damned turtleneck.

Vaguely, he becomes aware that he’s thrashing underneath his former professor -- though he’s not sure if that awareness is thanks to Sylvain stroking his hair and kissing him gently, or because bucking his hips gives him the most wonderful friction against the weight of her breasts. 

His restlessness must get his point across -- or maybe it’s the reedy groans tumbling unbidden from his throat? Or the way he claws into two sets of shoulders? -- because Byleth hooks her fingers into the waistband of his smallclothes and finally, _finally_ frees him into the evening air. 

He can't be bothered that he’s the only one fully undressed, not when Byleth leans back and _moans_ at the sight of him splayed out on her bed, fully hard and flushed red. 

“_Felix_,” Her voice sends shivers down his spine, low and _wanting_, aimed directly at him. 

“Hmm- _mm!_ ” His barely verbal response is cut off by the press of her finger against his slit, and all he can do is _whine_ when that single point of contact slides over the ridge of his head, down to the base of him, coming to rest just beneath his balls. 

“Is it alright if I prepare you?” 

Sylvain’s head pops up, intrigued, and Felix can’t help but flush a deeper red. 

Byleth kneads into his perineum until he forgets what words are, and he only gathers himself enough to answer after Sylvain bats her hands away from Felix’s skin. 

“I -- that’s --” he stammers incoherently, still floundering, before taking a deep breath and settling on an answer. “Just… make it good.”

Byleth’s answering grin is somewhere between affectionate and pleased. 

“Of course, my love.” 

She ducks away to rummage beneath her bed before he can even register the sentiment that’s left her lips. 

Which leaves him totally naked, lying in bed with Sylvain, totally clothed. 

“You’re stunning.” Sylvain whispers, as if it’s a secret, tracing runes over his shoulders and chest. 

Felix scoffs and mutters a “I bet you tell all your girls that,” before he can stop himself. The retort is involuntary -- and it comes from a place of truth, something deep inside that still hurts -- but he winces nonetheless, regretting the words as soon as they come out of his mouth. 

“Every single one of ‘em,” Sylvain assures him with a playful grin, seemingly unhurt by the jab.

There’s a beat of uncertain silence where Sylvain debates whether to continue speaking or not, amber eyes searching for _something_ in Felix’s own vermillion -- something he must find, because the apprehension in his face smooths over in favor of something much softer. 

“Do you know how many girls I dated because they reminded me of you?” The confession is quiet, wistful, _very_ vulnerable. Felix doesn’t know what to do with it. “I wouldn’t notice until your name was halfway out of my mouth, calling for you even though you weren’t there.”

Only Byleth’s rummaging breaks the silence between them. Sylvain’s eyes drop to the bedsheets. 

“It doesn’t make what I did any better, I know.” He whispers, eyebrows pulling low over sunset eyes -- _disappointment_, he’s upset with himself, Felix realizes, “And I get it if you don’t --”

Felix buries his hand into fire red hair, letting the flames twist and curl around his fingers when he _tugs_ Sylvain to him, demands a kiss from his stupid mouth. 

“Shut up,” Felix grumbles amidst open-mouthed kisses. “Ignore me. Just tell me you want me and shut _up_.”

When Byleth’s head finally pops back up over the edge of the bed, Sylvain has Felix draped over his chest, cradled in his arms, bare thighs tangled with clothed legs. His face is buried in the swordsman’s neck, peppering kisses along the reddened and bruised skin there, murmuring praises under his breath all the while. 

Byleth can't help but smile while she settles by their tangled legs and listens to them exchange whispered confessions and breathy moans.

_I’ve wanted to peel those boots off of you, too -- who told you those were a good idea?_

_your stupid bright hair and your stupid bright smile and your stupid bright eyes and_

_Feel so good in my arms, I’ve wanted you here forever, yknow,_

_how did you get so broad after all those years of slacking? not fair not fair not fair_

_Lovely, you’re so lovely, strong and -- what’s the word… graceful, lithe and lovely and_

It’s been a long time coming, for these two -- longer than she’s even known them. She’s glad she gets to be a part of their lives, if only to help unravel the tangle of long-buried emotions they’ve both locked away, neither of them good enough at communicating (or being honest with themselves, for that matter) to get their point across. 

She’s _lucky_, so lucky that she met them, that she got to know them, that they both ended up on the same side of the war, that they both survived until she returned. She’s lucky that she gets to be here with them, between them, alongside them, that she could help them open their hearts to each other, that they had room for her as well. 

She’s lucky to have fallen in love with them, lucky to be loved by them in return. 

She’s _especially_ lucky, she notes, to have the luxury of watching them rut against each other, to watch Sylvain’s face scrunch up, watch his knuckles go white against Felix’s hips as he pushes them down into his, to watch Felix’s shoulders go slack, to watch his thighs tense as he meets Sylvain halfway. 

Though she hasn’t waited as long as these two, she’s waited long enough.

“Alright,” she announces, prying Sylvain’s fingers off of Felix’s hips so she can curl hers into their place and hoist the swordsman up onto his knees. “Sylvain, if you would help him relax,” she directs the cavalier as she uncaps a vial and pours the contents onto one of her hands. “And Felix, love, stay still.” 

The swordsman shudders, violently so, when Byleth strokes one oiled finger over the pucker of his entrance. She teases a searing stripe over one cheek with her tongue, waiting for Felix to come down a little before she gets to work. 

She knows it’s hard to relax while as exposed as he is, completely naked amidst his clothed lovers. He’s also propped up on his knees and chest to chest with Sylvain, which meant his back arches in the prettiest of curves. She appreciates Sylvain’s attentive touch, hands smoothing over Felix’s shoulders, down his spine, over his waist. 

She’s _particularly_ appreciative of the moans that tumble out of Felix when Sylvain gets a hand in his hair and a fist around his dick. Felix’s whole body rocks forwards when Sylvain _tugs_, a gorgeous moan rolling off his tongue. 

“Better,” Byleth hums, nudging at the tight ring of muscles until she can sink a finger in. With Sylvain’s help, Felix relaxes bit by bit, until Byleth can work the one intrusion deeper and deeper, until her knuckles lie flush against his skin. 

Carefully, she pulls out, pushes back in, gets a sense of what she’s working with. Sylvain is still mindlessly mumbling praises -- _so patient, so good, just like that, Fee_\-- occasionally letting go of Felix’s dick to grip his hip and quell his persistent writhing. 

Unable to just lie still and _take it_, Felix sets to work undressing the man beneath him, yanking on hemlines and fumbling with ties until Sylvain is at least bare chested.

Byleth decides that’s a good a time as ever to push a second finger in beside the first. 

“I think--” Felix chokes around a gasp, bucking into Sylvain’s palm when he squeezes tight around aching desire. “I think I’m going to die. If something doesn’t happen _right now_, I’m going to _die_.”

“Needy,” Byleth remarks -- and she’s not certain if it’s the slide of her fingers or the offhand comment that elicits a surprised moan from the swordsman’s lips. “Be patient. You’ll get nothing but pain from being hasty.”

“This isn’t a _sword lesson_,” Felix grits out, shivering as her fingers scissor out of him, spreading him open. He feels absolutely _filthy_ like this, on his knees, ass in the air, oil dripping down his thighs.

“Oh, I dunno, Felix, we’ve got swords to fight with,” Sylvain teases, hand dropping to grip Felix’s dick and _squeeze_. A couple strokes, both from Byleth and Sylvain, have Felix panting harshly against Sylvain’s chest. Embarrassed by the sounds leaking out of him as steadily as the precome from between his legs, Felix busies his mouth with Sylvain’s collarbone, finally blemishing his perfect skin. 

Well, perfect by his standards, at least. He figures the scars of battle aren’t considered desirable by some -- and though he wishes none of them had to bear such scars, they’re a testament to their strength, to their _survival_. 

Around a mouthful of a shiny scar that lies exactly beneath where Felix knows there’s a chink in Sylvain’s armor, he mumbles, “I won’t break, professor,” and it… seems to _work_, to his surprise. 

Byleth pushes back into his body with a vengeful thrust of her fingers, grinding into a spot that has him seeing stars with deadly accuracy -- as if she knew it was there all along. 

Immediately, his mouth falls open against Sylvain’s skin, hips rocking back into Byleth’s touch, begging for more. 

She doesn’t bother to dangle the sensation out of reach, doesn’t bother to tease -- and he’s grateful for it, grateful for the way lights flash behind his eyelids when she strokes heavy over his prostate over and over and --

“Oh, _professor_,” Sylvain’s voice snags Felix’s attention, something about how breathless the cavalier has gone, “That’s a nice sword you’ve got there.” He teases, holding on for dear life while Felix wildly pushes back into Byleth’s hands.

“You had _better_ be referring to the thing she’s going to fuck me with,” Felix growls, biting into Sylvain’s shoulder in retribution for the wordplay.

“Of course, dear -- _ow!_” Sylvain yelps, tugging on Felix’s hair until he releases his skin from between his teeth. 

“Don’t patronize me.” Felix mutters, vindictively licking the teeth marks he’s left behind on perfect skin. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Sylvain’s smile is toothy, oddly sincere -- though Felix barely hears the sentiment over his own moan as a third finger stretches him open, slams into his prostate, and retreats just as quickly. 

If she’s fucking him _this well_ with just her fingers, he can’t even _imagine_ what it’s going to be like to have her fully seated inside of him. 

“Ready for more?” Byleth’s voice pierces his thoughts as if she’s been reading them, one calloused hand stroking over his hip while the other toys with his entrance, pressing, sliding, teasing, watching him flutter and flex against nothing. 

“Yeah- _yeah_,” is all Felix can manage to respond with, too strung up to put on an unaffected front. 

Sylvain snickers, obviously amused at his state. Felix bites him again, vengeful, and gets a sharp tug on his hair in return. 

The yank tugs his head back, bringing him face to face with a _sneer_, Sylvain’s lip twisted up to bare his teeth in an expression Felix _only_ sees on the battlefield, _never_ directed at him. 

And it’s… _hot_.

“Am I gonna have to muzzle you? Goddamn, Felix,” Sylvain grumbles, squeezing the fistful of hair wrapped around his knuckles. 

What Felix _wants_ to say is _I’d like to see you try_, but all that comes out is a strangled moan while his eyes roll back in his head. He struggles to regain control of himself, but something solid replaces Byleth’s fingers against his ass -- and apparently replaces the breath in his lungs as well. 

When his eyes open again, he finds an auburn eyebrow arched in his direction. “You like that, huh?” Sylvain hums, stroking a calloused thumb over his cheek, tracing the part of his lips. 

Crimson eyes narrow, ink-black eyelashes fluttering while Byleth circles her hips and grinds against him. 

“I told you already,” Felix manages to grind out between gritted teeth. “I’m not going to break.” 

It’s a message aimed at both of them, a plea to just _fuck him already_. 

Byleth gets the message, thank the _goddess_. 

There’s a slick sound behind him. Felix watches Sylvain’s eyes widen in surprise, then fall half-mast in searing desire while he watches whatever Byleth is doing. There’s a nudge to the overwrought nerves of his entrance, and then it’s Felix’s turn to go wide eyed in surprise as she sinks into him, hips snapping to meet his all in one smooth motion. 

He’d asked, and she delivered.

For a brief moment, he swims in the sensation of being filled to the brim, in the sting of being stretched too far, too fast. A keening moan warbles, broken, from his throat. 

The scratch of fabric against his ass brings a flush high in his cheeks. She’s still got her clothes on. 

Byleth doesn’t give him even a second to adjust. She pulls back out, lets him clench around the tip of whatever it is she’s fucking him with, and fucks back into him with a snap of her hips. Soon, she sets up a brutal pace, every thrust dragging heavy over his prostate, nails digging sharp into the jut of his hips as she pulls him back with every push forwards. 

He’s particularly enamored by the little grunts that puff out of his professor’s lips, the proof of the effort she’s putting into fucking him just right. 

“Mm,” Sylvain’s appreciative hum snags his attention, and Felix glances up to find amber eyes fixed on what _must_ be the curve of his ass where it’s propped in the air, where Byleth is pounding into him. Judging by the shift of the large hand between them, he’s palming himself through his pants, giving in to the temptation before either of them even have a chance to get at whatever he’s hiding beneath his waistband.

Felix opens his mouth, baring his teeth in preparation to divert Sylvain’s attention away from his own dick, but the cavalier thwarts his plans before he can carry them out with a renewed yank on the hair tangled around his fist. 

“Ah ah,” he chastises the younger man, pinning his head to the side, trapping him against a broad chest. “No biting.” 

Felix growls, but it’s cut off by a pitiful moan as the pinpricks of pain over his scalp combine with the maddening impact against his prostate and -- oh, _oh_, 

“_Oh_,” Felix gasps, rocking back, trying to meet Byleth’s punishing thrusts. “Oh, p- _professor_, oh _saints_,” 

Byleth chuckles behind him, and that’s about the only warning he gets before she pulls out and tosses him onto his side. His body clears Sylvain’s by mere inches -- a luxury he doesn’t have much time to appreciate before Byleth is crawling over him with the sharp gaze of a predator.

Felix is boneless, shaking from the denied pleasure, so he doesn’t mind at all when Byleth rolls him onto his back and hikes his legs up over her hips, positioning whatever it is that’s strapped around her waist --

Oh. It’s… it’s a dick. Not a _real_ one, of course. Maybe… maybe metal? Polished stone? He can’t tell -- and honestly, he doesn’t _care_, the weight of it is so _nice_ when she buries herself inside him again. She rocks her hips, the gentlest she’s been yet, watching his face while she tests out the new angle. 

“Felix,” she murmurs, reaching down to brush his bangs out of his face. “I truly don’t mind the title, but you may call me by my name, if you wish.”

Green eyes lift from the reddened cheeks and half-lidded eyes beneath her, skittering over to a matching pair of red cheeks and half-lidded eyes where Sylvain has rolled onto his side to watch the show. 

“The same goes for you, Sylvain.” She assures him, idly stroking Felix’s calf where it’s hooked over her hip. After receiving a stricken nod from the redhead, she turns back to the swordsman beneath her and rocks her hips in an experimental thrust, knocking a gasp loose from the tight line of his lips. “I trust you’re enjoying yourself, so far. Any requests?” 

As she picks up the brutal pace she’d started before, Felix swallows around a sound that was sure to be pitiful, gasping for breath as she knocks the air right out of his lungs. 

_Is that possible?_ he wonders blearily to himself. _Could she drive all the way to his diagram, rearrange his guts around the path of that unforgiving weight, that satisfying stretch?_

A call of his name reminds him of the question she’d asked him before, and the twinkle in her eyes makes the beast in him rear its head in challenge. 

“P-prof- By- _Byleth_,” he finally manages around her punishing thrusts. Her lips split into the smile that sparkles within her eyes, her expression finally matching her gaze, and Felix feels oddly warm.

Maybe it’s her hands curling around his waist, maybe it’s Sylvain’s hands pushing his legs up and back, folding him in half, but he’s _warm_, so warm.

When Byleth leans over him, pressing her chest to his, catching his lips in a sloppy kiss, Felix manages to throw his arms around her neck and speak his mind. 

“_Faster_.” 

Byleth’s little smile curls into something positively _devious_. 

If he thought he knew pleasure before, he was wrong. He was so wrong. 

There’s _nothing_ like scratch of Byleth’s tights against the sensitive skin of his thighs, there’s _nothing_ like being spread open, stuffed so full he could choke on it, every thrust of her hips sending stars scattering across his vision, Sylvain’s stupidly big hand snaking between them to wrap around his stupidly hard dick and _tug_, one two _three_ and he’s _gone_ \--

“Ah- _aah, aahn,_” his breath hisses through his teeth, the moans pulled unbidden from within him only made worse by the hand that tugs on his hair. Thick fingers press against his lips and slide over his tongue, coaxing cries unbidden from his lungs while he spurts and spills between the hot press of their bodies. 

Through the haze of orgasm, Felix realizes he’s probably going to have some interesting bruises on the backs of his thighs where Byleth’s hips crash into him, unrelenting.

When he floats back down, completely spent, he finds that Sylvain’s fingers in his mouth have been replaced by Byleth’s tongue, hot and stroking over his, coaxing him to respond. He manages to weakly suck against the intrusion and curl his fingers into the wisps of hair at the base of her skull, keeping her close while he gathers what’s left of himself. 

“Saints above, Felix,” Sylvain whispers -- and Felix assumes the brush of knuckles against his cheek is the redhead’s doing. “I knew you were _beautiful_, but this is- this is something else,”

“What,” Felix manages to rasp, as he breaks away from Byleth’s kiss, squinting in what he assumes is the dark knight’s direction. 

Lips overtake his, and the swordsman sinks into the contact, nearly purring in content. 

“You’re striking, Felix, _ethereal_, even,” Sylvain murmurs against his mouth when he pulls away, sneaking a few more kisses in between words. “How did I manage to stay away for so _long?_ Oh, by the goddess, Felix, I’m never leaving your side again, I swear it,” 

“You talk too much.” Felix mutters in return, but he lets himself be crushed beneath the weight of two bodies -- the bodies of people that _love_ him, that _want_ him. 

“You say that as if he’s wrong,” Byleth muses, pressing a kiss to his temple. “There’s something about you, Fraldarius.” She contemplates for a moment, kisses him. “Magnetic.” Kisses him again. “Bewitching.” 

Felix attempts to seem unaffected, but he’s too vulnerable from the intense orgasm to appear anything except _pleased_. 

Especially when Byleth’s soft and warm against his chest, when Sylvain’s a steady presence by his side, when the two of them are drowning him in praises, in kisses, in _love_. 

It rouses the side of him that he tries to hide, the side that cares, that cares _so much_, that wants to protect, to provide -- the side of him that wants to _love_.

He’s been cold for so long. 

With warm fingers, he reaches for Sylvain’s face, cradles his cheek in his palm. 

Warm, he’s so _warm_.

Sylvain looks a little stricken by the overt affection, but Felix only blinks, clearing the fog from his own eyes. 

“Hey, Sylvain,” 

“Yeah?” 

Felix blinks again, pausing to rearrange his thoughts. Then, slowly, a smile much too sharp for someone who’s just been fucked out of his mind stretches across his face. 

“Spread your legs for me?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BYLETH TOPS BYLETH TOPS BYLETH TOPS  
I've said it before and I'll say it again: Female Byleth can and will peg everyone in the whole goddamn monastery. Thank you for your time.
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/iridescentai)! Or [Tumblr](https://iridescentai.tumblr.com) if you want :)


	3. Spotlight: Sylvain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sylvain gets pegged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SYLVAIN HAS FEELINGS SYLVAIN HAS FEELINGS
> 
> SHOWER SYLVAIN IN LOVE K THX

Oh, it had been fun to smother Felix in love, to sit beside Byleth and crank the heat up until it was unbearable, until Felix was drowning in it. It was fun to watch Felix fall apart, to have a hand in undoing his straight laces, to witness an expression that -- in all Sylvain’s years of watching his childhood friend -- he’d never seen Felix make before. 

Felix, flushed pink and trembling, ink-black strands of hair falling across his face with every wild thrust of Byleth’s hips, sucking hungrily against the fingers Sylvain slides between spit slicked lips,

Byleth, puffing and panting, breasts bouncing, thighs flexing, grunting with the force of fucking into Felix’s willing heat, the green of her eyes mere rings around how wide her pupils have blown as she takes in every little detail of the blissed-out swordsman beneath her, 

Yeah, it was all fun and games until Felix lifts his head to turn an all too familiar grin in Sylvain’s direction.

“Spread your legs for me?”

It catches him off guard -- not nearly as off guard as Felix reaching out to cup his cheeks in calloused hands earlier, but close -- and he stares at the younger man for a moment, stricken. 

It’s just… a little nervewracking. Sure, Sylvain’s got sexual experience, sure he’s not _always_ on top when he fucks, but this feels… different, somehow. 

_It’s not just some girl that let you into her room, it’s not just some guy that dragged you behind the stables -- it’s Felix. It’s Byleth._

He’ll be open, vulnerable -- and not just because he can’t hide behind his clothes. 

It’s different, this time, because he can’t fool them with the mask he puts on for everyone else. 

In the wake of Sylvain’s silence, the momentary burst of confidence that must have compelled Felix to utter such a sentence leaves him as quickly as it’d come. Sylvain feels an odd sense of loss when the light drains out of vermilion eyes.

“Never mind, it’s not --”

“Don’t you wanna take my pants off first?” Sylvain interrupts him, thumbing at his waistband, pulling it until it snaps back against his hips. 

Felix eyes him for a moment, calculating, hesitant, making sure that Sylvain really means it. He must find what he wants -- or Byleth sitting up to allow him to move interrupts him -- because he lets out a long breath through his nose and combs a careful hand through wild hair. 

“Yes.” 

The swordsman’s final decision isn’t any less confident than when he demands someone spar with him. Felix knows what he wants -- it’s just a matter of whether or not he will speak his mind on it. 

Byleth wiggles off of Felix and off the edge of the bed, dropping to her knees to rummage around in her treasure trove again. Sylvain can’t imagine what it is she’s looking for -- he’d been surprised enough when she’d reappeared with a dick, what _else_ could she have under there?

Felix doesn’t give him a chance to wonder on the topic for long.

“I’ve died,” Sylvain decides, watching his childhood friend (crush? lover?) crawl over his body, skin flushed pink nearly everywhere, thighs still glistening with oil, abs still slick with cum. “I’ve died and somehow I made it to Paradise.” 

He’s hit in the face by a towel.

“Whoops,” Byleth’s apology from beside him is nearly drowned out by Felix’s snickering. “That’s for Felix,” she informs them. “Unless you wanted that to dry there.” 

The towel is lifted off of Sylvain’s face in time for him to see Felix grimace, his cute little nose scrunching up at the thought. 

“You have a cute nose.” Sylvain blurts before he can stop himself, fixated on the sharp lines and angles of Felix’s face. 

The swordsman glances up, briefly fixing the most dubious of expressions on the redhead before swiping up the rest of the mess on his stomach. “I thought we talked about lying, Sylvain.” 

“I thought we talked about believing me,” Sylvain shoots back, reaching out to rest his hands on the younger man’s knees. “You have a cute nose.” 

“I do not have-” 

“You have a cute nose.” Byleth interjects from the floor, not even lifting her head to look at them as she speaks. Felix’s jaw drops, something like offense forming on his face as he turns to argue with the professor, but Sylvain distracts him with a gleeful squeeze of strong thighs. 

“Case closed.” Sylvain determines. “Now take off my pants.” 

It’s oddly comforting when Felix rolls his eyes, looking awfully put upon about a task he had suggested in the first place. It reminds him that this isn’t an act -- Felix isn’t acting, Byleth isn’t acting, and Sylvain doesn’t have to act either. 

Though, Felix’s steady gaze does make him squirm a little bit. So does the thoughtful stroke of thumbs over the line of his hips, tracing the V that disappears beneath his waistband. 

Fingers scarred from a lifetime of handling blades and years of learning magic hook into his trousers, dragging them down inch by inch, un_bearably_ slowly. He only needs one finger to pull them off -- the rest of them drag over Sylvain’s skin, traversing the same path as ruby red eyes. 

Felix is taking his _time_. 

Sylvain watches the bob of the swordsman’s throat as he swallows hard, eyeing the tent in Sylvain’s smalls, but he doesn’t linger for long, scooting backwards on his knees as he reveals inch after inch of pale thighs and ruddy knees and --

“Careful -- _careful!_ I’m _ticklish!_” Sylvain jerks back, nearly kneeing Felix in the chin when he brushes over the thin skin near his ankles. 

“Big baby,” Felix mutters, snatching Sylvain’s foot out of the air with one hand and yanking it back down beneath him. He still doesn’t look up, fixated on Sylvain’s body. 

It’s not like they haven’t bathed together pretty much all their lives, or like they’ve never been in the washroom at the same time, so this shouldn’t be anything _new_, but…

Sylvain gets it. He understands. 

It’s not stolen glances and fleeting looks anymore. 

He’s _here_. He’s not going anywhere. 

And he _wants this_. 

There’s a nudge at Sylvain’s legs, a silent command to make room for a body to settle between them. Careful fingers trace up his calves, over his knees, until Felix spreads his hands wide to smooth warm palms over Sylvain’s thighs.

Sylvain visibly shudders when calloused thumbs slide over the sensitive spot high on his inner thighs. 

Felix pauses.

“Do your flings take their time with you, Sylvain?” Comes the quiet murmur, dark eyebrows pulled low over darker eyes. “Or do they get what they want and leave?” 

Felix doesn’t look up when the cavalier nervously shifts in place -- just pins his hips down, thumbs rubbing into that spot that sends tingles of pleasure up the taller man’s spine. A searing vermillion stare traces over his hips, Felix’s eyes lifting high enough to skirt over a toned abdomen before they drop between his legs as if pulled by a string, zeroed in on the thick bulge of his cock beneath his smalls. 

“If there’s time to go slow, it’s usually me doing the exploring,” Sylvain admits, plastering a sheepish grin to his face, trying to ignore the pulsing anticipation deep in his gut. “But I’m also known to get what I want and leave.” 

Sylvain would’ve missed the grin that just barely curves the corner of Felix’s mouth if he hadn’t been intensely searching his lover’s face for clues as to what he’d do next. 

But Felix doesn’t push the conversation any farther. 

He just drops down, buries his face in between Sylvain’s legs, and lets out a hot breath against clothed skin. 

At the sudden warmth, the sudden pressure -- none of it anywhere _near_ enough to satisfy him after waiting so long -- all Sylvain can do is twitch and yelp, thighs tense beneath battle-hardened hands. 

“Fe-Felix- _fuuck_-” Sylvain throws his head back, curling his fists into Byleth’s sheets to keep from pulling Felix’s hair out. “_Please_,” he pants, breathless just from Felix mouthing over his clothed cock, just from the brush of a sharp jaw, a high cheekbone, just from the momentary warmth of an exhale as it filters through the fabric. 

“Begging already?” Felix hums -- and it’s _torture_ against his straining arousal. 

Sylvain manages to lift his head, to peer down his body to where Felix is nestled in between his thighs. As if to further destroy him, deft fingers lift a leg in the air to loop it over a wiry shoulder, and Felix finally looks up -- only to press an open-mouthed kiss to that sensitive spot, sloppy and wet, before latching on and _sucking_. 

The _sound_ that comes out of Sylvain is equal parts surprised and _desperate_. Felix doesn’t look away, not until there’s a pretty purple splotch branded on the smooth skin of Sylvain’s thigh. The swordsman admires his work with a thoughtful tilt of his head, fingers stroking over the bulk of muscle slung over his shoulder. 

“Professor,” Felix calls out, as if he’s not in the middle of ruining Sylvain without even taking his clothes all the way off. “What on earth are you doing down there?” 

Byleth’s head pops up over the edge of the bed, curious green taking in the scenario above her. After she catalogues the scene at hand, she lifts the thing she’d dicked Felix down with in one hand and a bottle in the other into their sightlines in lieu of an answer. 

“Go on,” Sylvain prods her to continue -- desperately trying not to focus on the fingers dragging teasing lines from the head of his cock to the base of it, not enough to get him off, but enough to distract. 

“I’m cleaning it.” She clarifies. Sylvain relaxes, pleased with the answer, but Felix grinds his palm against the tent in his smalls, refusing to let him off easy. 

“Why can’t it wait?” The swordsman asks in his usual bored tone, as if he really doesn’t care. As if Sylvain’s hips aren’t pushing up into the rhythmic pressure of his hand as it rubs him off through his shorts. Byleth notices the cant of his hips -- because of course she does -- but before Sylvain can decipher what she’s up to, her expression clears out, wiped free of any hints. 

“Because I’m going to fuck Sylvain next.” Byleth explains, biceps flexing in time to what must be the movements of her wiping down that dick she had strapped around her waist. The thought of her stroking that dick has Sylvain imagining her hands around _his_ dick, and thinking about that while _Felix_ is palming his dick, well -- it doesn’t leave much room for hesitation.

“Will you join us s-soon? Are you -- are you almost done?” Sylvain pleads, digging his nails into the sheets beneath him. Felix gives a warning nip at his thigh when his legs close in too tight around his head, and the whine that tears from Sylvain in response gets him a harder downstroke. 

Byleth ducks out of sight for a few moments, shuffling and rustling beneath the bed, then reappears next to Sylvain’s face, peering at him with wide green eyes. He reaches up to cup her cheek, and it lights something warm within Sylvain when she nuzzles into his palm, eyes fluttering closed in contentedness. 

“Yes,” she whispers, resting her cheek against the sheets. “I’m done.” 

“Ah, but Sylvain’s not ready,” Felix informs them. A squeeze of his dick wrenches a moan from Sylvain’s lips, and the man in between his leg grins. “I’ve yet to truly spread him open.” 

There are two pairs of eyes on him when Sylvain blushes as red as his hair, and two sets of teeth flash in a grin at the anticipatory groan that slips out of him. 

Effortlessly, as if it’s second nature, Felix catches the vial of oil Byleth tosses his way. All at once, as if the front of Sylvain’s smalls aren’t soaked through where the swordsman’s been torturing him, Felix removes the final layer between their skin and tosses the offending article over his shoulder without regard for where it might fall. 

Byleth’s appreciative hum vibrates against Sylvain’s palm, green eyes dark while she takes in the way his cock lies hard against his stomach, the way it glistens with precome where it’s been dripping pathetically since Felix started teasing, the way it’s flushed pink and straining, twitching, desperate for attention. 

“What would you have me do in the meantime?” Byleth wonders.

It’s clearly an offer, a chance for them to take the wheel while they have the opportunity. 

Felix knows what he wants. “Strip.” 

The cheek under Sylvian’s palm creases with a smile, and, despite rolling her eyes, Byleth gets to her feet. While she works on unbuttoning her shorts, Felix lifts the weight of Sylvain’s legs off his shoulders and hikes them up and apart, putting Sylvain’s weeping cock on full display. 

Nervous after a moment of contemplative staring from the swordsman at the other end of the bed, Byleth’s clothes shuffling in the dead silence, Sylvain resorts to his most comfortable defense mechanism.

“Like what you see?” He winks when Felix shoots him a glare, strikes a pose for good measure. “I know you’re excited, but try to reign in your enthusias-_mm!_” Sylvain can’t help the hitch of his breath when one of Felix’s fingers, slippery and warm, slips between the ring of muscles at his entrance. 

He keeps his eyes on Felix, watching him watch himself push deeper into Sylvain’s body, something akin to wonder in those ruby red eyes. When he sinks up to the last knuckle, the swordsman glances up -- and freezes. 

Sylvain follows his gaze to find something straight out of a wet dream. <strike>Something he’s quite familiar with, when it comes to these two.</strike>

Byleth has stepped out of her shorts and stockings -- leaving her in the tiniest smalls Sylvain has ever seen, black and plastered to the curve of her wonderful, _beautiful_ ass -- and is in the process of pulling her blouse off over her head, arms crossed over her body likes she’s unwrapping a present for them. 

And what a _gift_ it is to watch her breasts fall free of the fabric, to see every curve and edge as she discards the shirt and shimmies the final layer off of her hips.

The turn she takes to fully face them seems slow, purposefully giving them an eyeful before she settles an expectant _look_ on the two of them. 

“Like what you see?” A sly smile tugs at her lips as she parrots Sylvain, but it melts into something genuine when both men nod. Sylvain’s agreement is obvious, head bobbing quick and eagerly, while Felix’s is a little less noticeable, the dip of his chin nearly involuntary in response. “Mm, good,” she hums, eyes drawn to the movement of Felix’s hand between Sylvain’s legs. “I like what I see, too.”

The moan that tumbles out of Sylvain is high and breathy -- and is _definitely_ _not_ because Felix decided to choose that moment to work another finger in alongside the first. 

Byleth clambers onto the bed and kneels at Sylvain’s side, green eyes taking a head to toe sweep of the body now exposed on top of her sheets. When his hand dares to venture over her thigh, dares to squeeze at skin and scars and muscle, she returns the gesture by skating her fingers over the expanse of his chest. 

“Prof-professor,” Sylvain chokes out, his voice harder to find now that Felix is stroking along his walls, obviously trying to find the same spot that had made _him_ cry out in ecstasy earlier. “I wanna- may I please touch your tits. Please.” 

Felix scoffs, rolling his eyes, but there’s a red flush to his cheeks that tells Sylvain his desires are running along the same track. 

Byleth has the audacity to _laugh_ at him. 

“So polite,” she chuckles -- but she moves to straddle him, regardless. Sylvain stares up at her, speechless, and she laughs again. “Go ahead.” 

Sylvain knows he has big hands. 

His hands _dwarf_ some of his classmates’ -- Bernadetta’s look like the hands of a _child_ next to his -- and he can’t even pretend to borrow Felix’s gloves. He’s always been told he’s good with his hands in bed, but he suspects a large factor of it is that there’s little need to search for good spots when you can stuff someone fit to bursting with just two or three fingers. 

So it’s kind of like a(nother) dream come true when Byleth’s breasts fit perfectly into the curve of his palm, the spread of his fingers just wide enough to encompass the expanse of butter soft skin, the weight of her, the _feel_ of her, just _perfect_ within his big hands. 

“You’re perfect,” Sylvain whispers, the words falling from him before he can catch them. “Like you were _made_ for me,” he takes a generous _squeeze_ between words, reveling in the flutter of green eyelashes. 

Hesitant fingers brushing against his knuckles takes Sylvain by surprise. He glances down and finds Byleth’s hands still tracing over his chest, which means…

Ruby red peers around Byleth’s shoulder, fingers slowed but not stilled within the clench of Sylvain’s heat, Felix’s free hand hovering over one of Sylvain’s while he waits for… something.

_Do you really expect me not to fuck everything up?_

Sylvain releases his hold on one perfect breast.

_These things take a certain- a little- everything I’m not._

Gently, he guides Felix’s hand to Byleth’s skin, presses his palm into the give of her chest, curls scarred fingers around the curve of her breast. 

There’s something like awe in Felix’s expression when his fingers curl tight, making little divots in the soft press of her skin, and Sylvain can’t help but moan when Felix echoes the curl with his fingers against his walls. 

“That’s it,” Byleth encourages, low under her breath, arching into the hands of her lovers. 

Felix groans, eyebrows furrowing as he takes another generous grope, filling his hands with _soft, warm, Byleth._ “You’re _perfect_,” he hisses, enamored with the weight of her in his palm.

Hazel autumn snags on a summer red gaze.

“Like you were made for us.” Sylvain murmurs.

It’s a nice moment, the three of them entangled, working together to bring each other pleasure.

Unfortunately (or fortunately? to be determined…), Sylvain breaks their odd silence with a hiccupped moan, hips jerking beneath Byleth’s weight, trying to push into Felix’s touch. When Byleth doesn’t allow him to move, the redhead protests with a tweak to a delectable looking nipple, which generates a surprised hum from his professor and -- more importantly -- a jerk of her hips.

He only registers the slick smear of her excitement across his abdomen once the cool air hits it, but as soon as it _hits_ \-- as soon as he _realizes_ \-- his patience flies out the window. 

“Professor. Professor.” Sylvain repeats, demanding her attention. Felix’s fingers rubbing over the peak of one rosy bud seem to have her full attention. “_Byleth_.” He tries again -- and immediately gets vernal green eyes on his. 

He opens his mouth to make his request, but his voice dies in his throat when little fingers press against his lips.

All he can manage is a garbled, pleading noise in the back of his throat when Felix presses a third finger up against the slicked rim of his entrance, only able to wiggle pathetically beneath the weight of Byleth’s body on top of his. 

“Beg for it.” The woman on top of him whispers, voice as sharp and dangerous as the look in her eyes.

Had it been Felix in his place, they’d be there all night. 

But Sylvain doesn’t care. He’d lost all sense of shame long, long ago.

“_Mmm,_ please- _ahhh_, _please_, Byleth,” Sylvain just lets the words run free from his lips, letting himself babble. “ _Please_ sit on my face. I need it, I- _aaah_, _saints above_, I _need_ it,” 

Faintly, he registers Felix’s mumble of “insatiable,” and he yowls when scarred fingers jab against his prostate. He can’t bring himself to care too much (not that he’s _upset_) while Byleth shuffles forwards, crawling up his body in order to straddle his face, and his back arches high in the air as soon as the weight’s been lifted off his chest

“Mmm, no,” Felix decides when she settles over Sylvain’s head, tugging on Byleth’s arm to redirect her. “Face me.” 

Sylvain can’t see his professor’s face, but he’d like to think that she’s amused by the two of them. 

He can’t linger on hypotheticals for long, not when his professor is spread open above his face, her dusky rose folds shining and slick with arousal from _his_ handiwork. He’s never been more grateful for the span of his hands as he wraps them around thick thighs, pulls Byleth down down down until he’s taking deep, heady breaths of her scent. 

Oh, _fuck_.

He allows himself a smile before he gets to work. 

The surprised _mmm!_ that tumbles out of the woman perched above him when he buries his face in her cunt dangerously inflates his ego. 

Felix must catch onto that -- maybe it’s the _shameless_ way Sylvain sets to eating her out, sloppy and desperate and _loud_ \-- and knocks him down a couple pegs with a few well-timed thrusts to his sweet spot. 

“What?” Sylvain grumbles, muffled by Byleth’s thighs. 

“You’re disgusting,” Felix informs him. “Would you-”

The quiet moan that Byleth makes when she rocks back into the press of Sylvain’s tongue must change his mind, because Felix doesn’t finish his sentence. 

(Sylvain sucks _extra_ loudly against her entrance and definitely does _not_ flip Felix off from behind Byleth’s ass. No, of course not, that would be childish, he would _never-_)

(Felix scissors him open in retaliation. Brat.)

After a while of being happily pinned between strong thighs, sucking hungrily at her sweet juices, pushing his tongue as deep inside of her as he can manage, reveling in every rut of her hips against his chin, every pulse of her clit against his fingers,

After a while of Felix targeting that spot inside of him that makes the coiled heat in his stomach flare, after a while of his cock hanging heavy and neglected against his stomach, pitifully drooling precum over his stomach, twitching with need,

_Especially_ after Felix goes back to mouthing at his thighs, sucking bruises into pale skin and scars, _especially_ when Byleth seizes up around him, spasms against his tongue, twitches against his fingers, falls apart with a shudder and the cutest, hottest moan he’s ever heard in his _life_, 

Well, it all gets to be a little too much. 

_Saints above, he’s got to touch himself right now or else he will d i e_

Sylvain manages to release one of Byleth’s thighs from the death grip he has on them to skate down his body and yank his poor, throbbing dick to completion. 

Except that Felix pins his arm to the bed before he can reach his destination.

_It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s gonna suck, but he’s pretty sure he’s gonna come anyways, oh- great fires of Ailell- oh fuck, here it comes-_

Except that Felix slides oil slick fingers out of the tight confines of Sylvain’s body and cinches a harsh circle around the base of his poor, throbbing dick with too-strong fingers. 

Their professor peels herself off of her willing seat with a contented little sigh, freeing Sylvain to spit curses at the swordsman between his legs. Felix ignores him, leaning forwards to meet Byleth for a kiss and raising one hand behind her head to brandish a middle finger in the cavalier’s direction.

“You’re _horrible,_ Felix, you’re the _worst_,” Sylvain whines, writhing under the near painful grip the swordsman has on his dick. 

Slowly, languidly, Felix lies down next to Sylvain, traces little runes across his chest. 

“Mmm, really?” Felix hums -- and that bastard has the audacity to _bat his eyelashes at him_. “Do you _really_ mean it?” 

"N-no," the confession that wheezes out of him makes thin lips curl into a smarmy grin. Sylvain does his best to fight back with the stroke of a broad palm over a pale chest - which gets a pleased rumble from the swordsman beside him.

When Byleth swings around to face him, settling in between his legs and buckling that toy around her waist, Sylvain swallows _hard_, probably hard enough for it to be audible. 

"Sylvain," Byleth hums, tracing the bruises Felix has left behind like a roadmap to all the places that make him squirm. "Tell me what you want."

All the redhead can do is throw his head back and moan, legs wobbly while he tries to wrap them around her. "Want you to _fuck me,_ professor,"

Felix strokes through ginger curls and chuckles at the use of the title. 

"I've been- _uhf-_ I've been _so good_. _Please_, Byleth," he throws an elbow over his face, cheeks flushed red with near-painful arousal and a new kind of embarrassment. "_Please_ fuck meee,"

Usually he can just _say_ whatever he wants, say whatever it will take to get what he wants. 

But he _means_ it, oh he _means_ it -- and how badly he wants it _scares _him, because they could just as easily take it away, refuse to give it to him, laugh in his face --

"Of course, Sylvain," Byleth assures him, leaning over him to pry his arm off of his face. Felix leans in to brush kisses to his cheek once the arm is discarded, and Byleth joins in, kissing and kissing until his cheeks tingle mercilessly. "You have been good."

"You've been so good," Felix agrees, lazily pinching Sylvain's nipple, drawing a whine from the cavalier. "I could get used to this."

The weight of Byleth against his chest is so comfortable, the warmth of Felix against his side is so natural -- like he's meant to be there. With them. Between them. Part of them.

The solid nudge of Byleth's strap-on is _new_, but certainly not unwelcome. She pushes in slow and steady, getting him used to the stretch, going slow and gentle with him. 

And as much as he appreciates slow and gentle, Sylvain is a little too far gone to wait much longer.

"Fuck me fuck me fuck me _fuck me,_"

He can't tell who chuckles, because his head goes fuzzy when Byleth seats herself fully inside him, pressing her hips flush to his.

Sylvain whines low in his throat, reaching out out out until he's got an arm looped around Byleth's waist and Felix's shoulders. 

"Steady now," Byleth murmurs into his ear. "I'm gonna take care of you. Make you feel good."

"_Please,_"

The tempo she sets is languid, and he's so slick with oil that the sounds of her thrusts are downright _sinful_. 

He feels bad for digging his nails into her back, dragging red lines into her skin while she's being so gentle with him -- but he's desperate to hold onto something, desperate to anchor himself before he loses his mind.

Felix's mouth sealing over his, swallowing down his pitiful groans, doesn't help clear his head. 

He quickly loses himself to the rhythm of Byleth's hips against his, that steady pressure against his prostate, the stretch to accommodate her, quickly loses himself to the push and pull of Felix's fingers carding through his hair, running down his chest, the hot slide of his tongue into his mouth, coaxing shudders and moans from kiss swollen lips.

"You look so good like this," the woman above him informs him, smiling sweet against the curve of his neck while she sucks another mark into his skin. Sylvain keens, back arching to press into her, shoving his hips into the pace she's set.

At the sound, Felix all but growls against his mouth, nipping at his lip with sharp teeth. "I like your honest expressions the best. 'Specially this one," the swordsman thumbs at Sylvain's lip, tracing the rosy red indents he'd just left. "Does it feel good when she fucks you, Sylvain?"

All the cavalier can do is nod frantically, moan loudly, and grip Byleth's waist tighter, his sight completely gone to starbursts of color every time she drags heavy over his sweet spot. 

It's too much, it's too much -- he'd expected it to be intense, what with three of them in the mix, but- but- but _physically_ intense, not _emotionally_ intense, not like _this_-

"You're so beautiful,"

"Look so good, Sylvain,"

"Feels good? Want you to feel good,"

"You take good care of us, Sylvain, just wanna take care of you,"

It's too much, it's _too much,_

"You're doing _so_ good, you're _so_ good for me,"

"You wanna come? Bet you'll look even prettier when you come,"

"Wanna keep you like this, make you feel good all the time, keep you soft and relaxed and pretty,"

"It's alright, Sylvain, you've done so well -- come for me, lovely,"

_It's too much, it's too much!_

His tongue is too heavy to even form words -- not with Felix's lips wrapped around a pebbled nipple, not with Byleth's tongue dragging hot across his collarbone, not with the overwhelming sensation of both of his lovers' bodies blanketing his, warm and soft and strong against him, and he's -- he's --

Honestly, he comes so hard he's pretty sure his soul momentarily disconnects from his body.

His vision whites out, his ears ring like a Thunder's crashed down too close to him, and he completely loses feeling in his fingers and toes.

When he comes back around, he's cradled in two sets of arms, shuddering, still spurting thick ropes of cum onto his stomach, into Felix's hand. He's making some truly pathetic noises in the back of his throat, his dignity long tossed aside and further wrung out of him with every twist of Felix's wrist.

Usually when he reaches orgasm, wrapped up in someone else's arms, he's still acutely aware of the situation. He's busy cataloging their interest, their energy, whether or not he needs to dip or can stay the night, whether or not he needs to go another round,

But here, he just… floats.

He floats, content to lie between his two lovers, tangled in their arms, anchored by their bodies. He doesn't need to scramble to impress, doesn't need to manipulate, doesn't need to keep up the mask.

He's safe, here.

He's loved, here.

"You good?" Felix is the first to speak, releasing Sylvain as soon as the redhead curls into himself, oversensitive on an astronomical level.

Sylvain manages a nod before he collapses, boneless, onto the bed. 

Usually after he comes, he's back up in an instant, fussing over his partner, cleaning up after himself, ushering them out of the room with a wink and hushed whispers -- like they're a secret that needs to be kept, like they mean something to him.

But here, he stays still. 

He doesn't have much of a choice, actually. He tries to sit up, but Felix pulls him back down. He tries to take the rag away from Byleth, but she bats his hands away and resumes mopping his seed off of his chest.

"Let me take care of you."

He lays back, basks in their warmth, in their love. He sinks into the mattress, sinks into the scrape of Felix's stubble as he nuzzles against his neck, sinks into Byleth's hands as they knead the last of tension out of his muscles.

"Did I scream?" Judging by how raw his throat is, he guesses yes, but Byleth shakes her head no.

"You might've choked on one," she shrugs before lying down against him, tangling her legs in his. "But you didn't make a sound."

"I think I died," Sylvain wheezes. "I don't think I've ever come that hard in my _life_."

"We should throw a party," Felix quips, brushing unruly curls away from Sylvain's forehead. 

"Sure," Sylvain agrees, as if he's serious. "But first, cuddle me. I need a nap."

Felix squawks about how it's "probably past midnight" and "you might as well go to sleep, you idiot" and lots of other endearing, Felix-y things, but Byleth ignores him. She slings an arm around his neck and pulls him closer, squashing him against Sylvain's pecs -- and Felix grumbles and groans, but doesn't pull away.

His toes brush across Sylvain's knee, bumping Byleth's calf before he twines into their pile.

Like he's meant to be there. With them. Between them. Part of them.

Sylvain stretches, tenses, relaxes. Tightens his hold on the bodies keeping him warm in the cool night air. 

He presses a kiss to the top of Felix's head, to the top of Byleth's. Feels them return the gesture, gentle against his cheek, his throat.

Like he's meant to be there. With them. Between them. Part of them.

Something settles in his chest, something solid and real and _warm_.

It's on his lips, but he dares not speak it. 

_Love, love,_

_Love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this felt like equal amounts of Sylvain/Byleth and Sylvain/Felix?? 
> 
> And thank you to all my lovely commenters <3 you guys make my day :))
> 
> Come yell at me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/iridescentai)! Or [Tumblr](https://iridescentai.tumblr.com) if you want :)


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